The Adventure of the Wand of Death
by Mikel Midnight
Summary: Felix Clovelly's final account of the adventures of Gridley Quayle, Investigator from PG Wodehouse' SOMETHING WILD in which he encounters the scientific adventurer known as Lady London


Lady London in, "The Adventure of the Wand of Death" by Michael Norwitz, edited by Abby Henderson.

Gridley Quayle, Investigator, looked at the insurance photographs of an ebony wand.  
"It doesn't look like much."

Hari Oberoi shuddered. "I didn't think so either. Jack Bishop ... he owned Something Old, the antiques shoppe over on Hayling Street ... phoned me because he knew I had an interest in anything from India. We shared a laugh over the rumor that it was supposed to bring death to whoever possessed it. I thought it was an obvious forgery. Look, the carving on the wand is Indian, but the orb at the top has a scarab inset which looks Egyptian ... but the halves did strike us as obviously old, and we wondered whether it was two separate pieces which had been attached together at a later date, for some reason."

"What do you think the pieces are?"

"The wand, no idea, but Jack Bishop thought the orb may have been modeled on the Orb of Ra. Legend says that the sun god Ra fashioned the Orb from the right eye of Hathor to prevent her transformation back into a war goddess; at least that's what Jack told me. Egyptian mythology has never made much sense to me; it was the wand that attracted me. Jack wrote down his estimates on the matter. I have a copy here."

Quayle peered it over. "This is gibberish ... your friend has terrible handwriting. Is this adjurations or abjurations? maw or may? Rapses or Rakses?" He raised an eyebrow. "Obviously old ... or possibly antiqued?"

Oberoi shook his head, "I was a good customer."

"I noticed you're using the past tense."

"Shortly after I purchased the wand, I started to receive threatening messages ... and now Bishop has been killed when Something Old burned to the ground. This morning I received a phone call saying the same would happen to me if I didn't surrender the wand myself."

"I see." Quayle paused and gestured airily with his right hand. "Not to be obvious but why don't you simply surrender the wand?"

"I can't!" Oberai responded testily. "It was stolen! They've been dogging me for weeks, but when I try to explain it, they don't believe me! That's why I called you in!"

"Ah."

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Police inspector Dai Thomas looked harried. "Yes, we are pursuing some leads on the Bishop arson case, but I can't comment on an ongoing investigation."

Joanne Simpson, a golden-haired woman of 5'7", nodded, "Thank you, inspector Thomas." She shrugged internally ... the readers of the UK edition of the Daily Bugle would just have to have their curiosity unsatisfied for now. She turned off her tape recorder, and then looked back up at him, bright blue eyes intense. "Anything off the record?"

He lowered his voice. "Your alter ego Lady London has an interest in this, then?"

She pursed her lips. "Jack Bishop was ... a friend of a friend. It's rather personal."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, and shook his head. "Nothing definitive, but we have reason to believe the one of the local Indian gangs has been involved. We're still looking into it."

She hissed. "Nalin Oberoi? That's who you're talking about, isn't it? That would be ... surprising if it were the case."

He leaned down and pulled out a case folder from the bottom of his desk drawer. "Why so?" His eyes began to skim through its contents.

"My friend is Hari Oberoi, Nalin Oberoi's son."

"Hari's a good lad," he grunted. "But his father is known as something of a demon; that's what they call him. You think it would be out of character for him to kill Jack Bishop?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." She sighed. "I will let you know."

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Gridley Quayle and his companion Annabel, a small, pretty, good-natured-looking girl in her early twenties, made their way through the police barrier, their flashlights beaming through the darkness as they examined the wreckage of Something Old. "What are we looking for again, Gridley?" she asked.

"A clue ... anything the police may have missed."

She furrowed her brow, and daintily picked her way through the rubble.

"Ah," she heard him say after several minutes. She rose to her feet, dusting the ash off the hem of her dress, and meandered over to where he was standing, near what remained of the doorframe. "What did you find, Gridley?"

She watched him trace his fingertips across a depiction of a grotesque, multi-limbed woman. "Do you see this relief carved here in the doorframe?" She nodded. He continued, "It is the Hindu goddess Kali. It was carved through the ashes; after the fire. It looks like someone left us a calling card."

She gasped, "It's the Cult of Kara-kai, isn't it? We haven't heard from them since you solved the Adventure of the Missing Marquess."

No sooner were those words spoken, than the night was pierced by wild, animal-like cries. Suddenly, the pair were surrounded by a septet of masked men. Seven curved blades covered them with deadly precision.

Gridley Quayle drew forth his sidearm. "Hands up, you scoundrels," he uttered characteristically.

The men did not reply as their swords descended in a fatal arc. A vision of green, pink and gold swept down from the evening skies, as feminine but diamond-hard arms took hold of the pair and carried them out of harm's way, setting them down on the sidewalk of Hayling Street.

"The famous Lady London," Quayle acknowledged, "What a coincidence."

She peered down at him. "Gridley Quayle, isn't it? I remember reading about you in the newspapers when you solved the Adventure of the Secret Six."

He nodded. "The same. Though perhaps we can put this mutual admiration society on hold for a bit? There are some fellows running towards us with sharp objects pointed our way."

Lady London looked over to the Cultists just as they descended on her and her allies. As one Cultist sought to decapitate Quayle, he blocked the curved sword with the body of his handgun. The sword cut deep into the butt of the gun. Quayle cursed the loss of his weapon even as he dealt a solid uppercut to his surprised opponent.

Even more surprised were the bearers of the remaining six swords; steel sparked gold as it rebounded off Lady London's skin, and with fantastical speed she dispatched the remaining Cultists from the land of consciousness. She dusted her hands off, and then looked around, disturbed. "These won't be all of them, will it?"

"No," Quayle shook his head. "I shudder to think who else the Cult of Kara-kai have on their enemies list."

Lady London's eyes widened. "Cult of Kara-kai ... they're Kali worshippers, aren't they? Out of India ... "

"Quite astute of you," he said sniffily. "Annabel, I want you to get home to safety; we know how irrational these religious fanatics are. And I need you to make some phone calls, find out just the people I need to speak to in order to track them down."

Quayle helped Annabel up from her still-seated position on the sidewalk. She took his proffered hand and stood up. Annabel's eyes brightened at the thought of a new mystery to pursue, "Certainly, Gridley."

Lady London looked thoughtful. "I think I have some phone calls of my own to make."

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In his office behind the British Museum, Professor Wing looked closely at the photographs of the ebony wand. "These notes are almost unreadable. Is that Habnefi or Habnefu? Sebok or Sobek? Rakses or Rapses? You are quite serious about this?"

Gridley Quayle sighed, "I gather it's an improbable piece, but the interest the Cult of Kara-kai has in it is all too real. I know you've had run-ins with the Cultists before."

Professor Wing nodded, "If it hadn't been for the intervention of my son-in-law, Wendell Rand, my daughter and I would have been lost. I know how serious a matter it is to go up against the Cult."

Quayle folded his arms, perched on the edge of Wing's desk. "We're going up against them now, Professor. A young woman's life is at stake. If there's any information you have which can lead me to them ... "

"When I encountered them before," the professor answered, "they were led by the priestesses Shaya and Ushas, and had been operating in this country largely based out of Limehouse. That's where I would start."

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The elderly man walked down the Hackney streets, carrying a bag of groceries. He reached his street, a long row of houses neatly aligned one against the other, and paused to rest against his cane. Finally he sighed, and proceeded the last several yards to his home.

His eyes scanned the front of his house as he approached, and he noticed something seemed askew. An upper window, open a foot wider than it had been when he left. His eyes narrowed, and he reached into a holster beneath his greatcoat, pulling out a small handgun. Hiding it in his large hand, he inserted his key into the door and cautiously opened it.

"Timber Sahib," said a female voice. He turned quickly to see an improbably clad woman, seated comfortably in his front room.

"That is a name I have not used in decades," he muttered, maintaining his composure. He returned the gun to its hiding place. "How did you find me?"

"I needed to speak to someone with experience in the Indian Secret Service, and was directed to you by my government contacts."

He grunted irritably. "How may I be of assistance to the esteemed Lady London?"

"I hear you're an expert in Kali worshippers. Do you know anything about the Cult of Kara-kai?"

He spat into the fireplace, and then turned about-face to walk into his kitchen, where he set down the bag of groceries before returning to the living room. "The Cultists were worshippers of Kali who valued the Sacred Volume of Kali before all else. India permitted them to operate unhindered for centuries, but beginning in the 1830's, the British began to arrest and slay them by the dozens. They survived this attempt at extermination by subsuming themselves into an international organisation, the Order of the Golden Dawn."

"International." Lady London placed a finger thoughtfully across her lips. "Would the Order be comprised of members from Egypt as well as India?"

"They were originally based out of China, although I do not track their current activities. But they provide sanctuary and resources for all those who oppose the West, dealing in imports and exports of antiquities as well as the trade in hashish."

"That sounds like a business the local Indian criminal gangs would like to share a part of," she mused. "Thank you for the assistance, Sahib."

"England prevails."

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Nalin Oberoi was a large, muscular man who projected an aura of barely restrained fury that many found intimidating. Nalin used that frequently to his advantage. The sunlight streaming through the window picked up red highlights in his dark hair, which complemented his dusky complexion.

He stared out the reinforced glass wall of the skyscraper, looking down at the streets of London. His city. Soon to be his in ways in ways its inhabitants never suspected, he reflected. He tensed and relaxed his muscles beneath his suit jacket. He was soon distracted from his reverie by the electric buzz of an intercom. He sighed and pressed the access button. "Yes, Meera Jain?" he spoke to his receptionist.

"Mister Oberoi," she said, the young woman's voice sounded unsure. "It's, uh ... Lady London and ... Gridley Quayle here to see you."

"Don't worry your little head about them, Meera Jain. Just see them in."

As the pair entered, he forced a smile through gritted teeth, and sat down behind his immense oaken desk. "Two old friends, coming to see me together. It makes me feel like a matchmaker. When is the wedding date? Tell me the truth Gridley, have you got her in the club?"

Lady London's smile was cool. "Hardly friends, Oberoi."

Quayle shrugged. "I know we had our differences when I was investigating the Adventure of the Blue Ruby, but I'd hoped we could be civil here. It concerns your son."

"Hari?" Nalin Oberoi scowled. "A very ... sensitive ... young man, but hardly the sort to follow in his father's footsteps; more's the pity. I fail to see what he could have done to attract the attention of two old friends as esteemed as yourselves."

Lady London glanced at Quayle. "Nalin's been receiving death threats from an organisation called the Cult of Kara-kai," he said. "They already killed an antiques dealer named Jack Bishop. I believe the two of us have put paid to them, but there's no guarantee they don't have other Cultists waiting in the wings to fill their place. This is all over a sacred ebony stick stolen from the Indian temple."

Nalin Oberoi raised an eyebrow, "And this is just to inform me of a threat to my son? He is well guarded, as you may know."

"That's part of it," Lady London said, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. "We also want to let you know that if you are actually involved with this mysterious artifact ... or for that matter, Jack Bishop's death ... we will find out about it."

Oberai smiled, "As you know, old friends, I am a modest businessman." Nalin Oberoi spread his hands wide in an expansive gesture. "I know nothing of whatever artifact you speak of, though I regret anyone's death that may have resulted from contact with it, of course."

Gridley Quayle nodded ... he'd expected no more helpful a response than this. "If you hear from the Cult, or any word comes to you about the artifact ... you know how to contact me."

Nalin Oberoi bowed his head, "Of course I will. You have my thanks, Quayle. You as well, Lady London."

Lady London pursed her lips, then silently tilted her head at Quayle. The pair left soon after.

Nalin Oberoi locked the door behind them, then walked over to a safe located beneath his desk. "Thank you for finishing off those Hindus for me," he said to their departed backs, "Now I can get on with my work." Removing the ebony wand from its hiding place, he caressed the orb at its top, which glowed a malefic green in response.

He pulled out the original copy of Jack Bishop's notes. "I wish Hari's friend had better handwriting," he grumbled, and began to chant. "... by the searing might of the living sun-disk! By the usurping night that stalks the desert like a jackal! By the adjurations of Ibn-Habnefi ... uhm, Ibn-Habnefu ..and by the ravening maw of Sebok ... bah, Sobek ... I command that night be day, water be fire, and death be life! As above, so below, eternally transposed! By Khonshu's curse, I unleash the eldritch power of the Great Orb of Ra so that you, great Rapses, may live again!"

From outside the glass wall, the sun seemed to shift in place, or maybe it was simply that its Western descent which brought it into sight, but Nalin Oberoi found himself temporarily blinded. He squinted, and as the pulsing spots faded from his eyesight, they seemed to coalesce into the form of a man, attenuated of form and clad in golden garments reminiscent of the ancient empires of Egypt.

"Who has summoned the pharaoh Rakses?" said the figure, in an accent which resembled Oberoi's own.

"I have, Nalin Oberoi," said the other man, taking a step forward. "My people, followers of the prophet Mohammed, are being persecuted in my native India, and this dismal country has invaded our lands of Iraq and Palestine. I have bound you to me so that with your necromancy, you will allow us to take back our lands from the infidels."

"Bound to you? You are mistaken."

Nalin Oberoi blinked. "But ... the incantation ... was very precise ..."

Rakses shook his head. "Evidently not, as you made a slave of someone called Rapses." With surprising speed, he reached out and pulled the ebony wand from the other man's grip. "I unleash the eldritch power of the dung ball of Khepra!" he said, and as a shadowy form passed through Nalin Oberoi's body, possessing him, the Indian mobster's body metamorphosed into that of a giant scarab.

Down below, as Lady London and Gridley Quayle entered the streets outside the Blackstone Paget building where Nalin Oberoi had his office, she took him by the hand and soared into the air.

"I don't think I will ever adjust to this mode of transportation," he grunted, forcing his eyes open.

She grinned. "This is quicker than calling a cab," she said. "Anyway, you get to navigate. What's the next step?"

He pointed her in the direction of his office on Wych Street, off the Strand. As they descended in front of the brownstone, he stepped up to insert his key into the lock ... and his face paled as he saw, carved into the doorframe, a relief of the goddess Kali.

He bolted inside and called out, "Annabel?" The skin of his face paled. "If those Cultists have kidnapped her ... "

"We'll find her, Quayle." Lady London followed him in and placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "We'll see her to safety, and we'll avenge Jack Bishop." She smiled grimly. "It's time for a visit to Limehouse."

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Gridley Quayle and Joanne Simpson walked arm-in-arm through the busy Limehouse walkways, weaving their way through the crowd. She whispered, "You're sure this will work?"

He nodded. "An old acquaintance of mine, Lee Quong, runs a teahouse near here. His information has always been good." He pushed open the door to the Indian restaurant. Gridley locked eyes with Joanne as they entered; she squeezed his hand in silent reassurance that they would be successful in their quest to locate Annabel.

A waiter approached them with a smile, and Quayle made a dismissive gesture. "I am here to see Sinnat."

"Pardon me sir, there is a bug on your shoulder." The waiter's hand crept forward, brushing away at the tip of Quayle's jacket.

"Thank you," Quayle countersigned, "your hand moves swift as a cobra."

The waiter's smile broadened. "Of course, Sinnat is back this way." He beckoned them towards the kitchen. They followed, eyes watering at the overpoweringly pungent smell of curry, until they were led to another door. The waiter pressed it open, and the pair crossed the threshold into a darker world.

Dusky-skinned men, and a few of paler hue, sat cross-legged beneath low tables our lunged on cushions. Most were smoking water pipes although a few seemed to be eating dark bread smeared with paste. The smell was acrid yet heady, though not entirely unpleasant. Seated behind an office table was a plump man with moist lips, who glanced at the newcomers. "Yes?" he enquired.

"We're here to see a man about a woman," said Joanne simply.

"Particularly," added Quayle, "we wish to speak to Shaya and Ushas."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" He picked up a small brass bell on his desk and waggled it, whereupon a curtain in the back of the room opened up to reveal a pair of immensely large men, masked and carrying curved blades.

"It's like peeling an onion, isn't it?" said Joanne to her companion, rolling her eyes, "hidden room after hidden room."

"If you would stand behind me, I will dispense with these Thugees," Quayle said, brushing her aside.

"Nonsense," she said, "we don't have time to waste with manly posturing." She reached up and tilted her flowered hat at a rakish angle, and as her aura began to spark and crackle, her clothes transformed into the uniform of Lady London.

Quickly dispensing with the guards, she and Quayle passed into the hallway behind them, and descended a stairwell further into the den of iniquity. They found themselves in a large room, pungent with the scent of incense. The walls were rough-hewn brick, and all attention was focused on the immense statue of Kali which dominated the front of the room, before which was a sacrificial platform. The platform was illuminated by a large pair of candles, one on each side. Within their chiaroscuro was the prone body of Annabel, clad only in a scarlet ribbon which served to bind her as well as barely maintain her modesty as it draped over her. Two figures in dark robe and hoods stood over her, in one of whose hands were gathered the ends of another scarlet ribbon which wrapped around Annabel's throat.

As Quayle and Lady London witnessed, the robed figure released the ribbon at Annabel's throat; she gasped for breath as the other began a chant in an ancient dialect. Lady London whispered to her companion, "What in heaven's name are they doing to the poor girl?"

He frowned. "The Cult of Kara-kai will use a ribbon to perform ritual murder upon their victims, slowly strangling, then offering a prayer to Kali, then loosening, then strangling again, in order to prolong the death for Kali's pleasure. Apparently they were inspired by a tale of Kali strangling to death an opponent who would divide into a new body whenever he was slain."

"That's horrible," she said, and like a bolt of flowery lightning she flew through the air, landing on the platform and gathering the semi-conscious Annabel into her arms. Quayle swore to himself and drew forth his sidearm, following the Corpswoman on foot.

The figure who had been holding the ribbon removed the disguising robe, to reveal a striking woman dark of hair and long of limb, "What heathen dares to interrupt a sacrifice to Kali?"

"I am Lady London," she said, "and you are Shaya ... or Ushas .. I presume?"

"Shaya," clarified the woman, "and you have provided us merely with another sacrifice." With a flick of her hand a morningstar blurred through the air, embedding itself in Lady London's shoulderblade. The heroine dropped Annabel and gasped, her forcefield sparking. "That's ... that's not supposed to be possible." she said, looked incredulously at the wound.

"All things are possible for the followers of Kali."

Lady London grunted, and reached her hand up, removing the sharpened weapon in one fluid movement.

"I'm impressed," Shaya said as she raised an eyebrow in surprise, and nodded to the other figure who had stood by her at the platform; the figure similarly disrobed to reveal a woman who looked enough like Shaya to be her sister.

Gridley Quayle reached the platform and pulled Annabel into his arms, and Ushas scowled. "More heathens to intrude on our sacred ceremony," she grumbled as she pulled out a pair of nunchuks, their blunted ends generating flashes of light as they whirled through the air. One arced towards Lady London's head, and as she quickly rolled out of the way it shattered the corner of the stone platform with superhuman force.

"Quayle," she gasped, "Get Annabel out of here ... I will look after the terrorist twins."

Shaya performed an ornate flourish with her cloak, the lining of which was darkest black. An aura of darkness extended from the edge of the cloak, which entered in and filled the room. Quayle looked around at the encompassing darkness in dismay. "Miss Simpson?" he whispered.

She could just barely see the trailing lights of Ushas' nunchuks. "Do your best, Mister Quayle," she whispered back, and as she heard his slow attempts to retrace his steps by feel, she entered into a deadly dance with Ushas.

"I should be thrashing her. I'm much more powerful than she is," Lady London thought as she desperately tracked and deflected the destructive lights, wincing at the concussive force when they managed to strike her flesh, "But she's the better fighter. She's the better killer."

When a blow struck her shoulder in the same spot in which the morningstar had been embedded, it felt like an arrow in her Achilles' heel, and caused her to stumble slightly as she retreated from the blow. "I'm being stupid," she thought. "I'm fighting on her terms. The real enemy is Kali herself." Using her heightened spatial perceptions, she rose in the air and then soared back into the immense statue of Kali, bracing herself against it until it in an attempt to knock it over.

With a scandalised cry, Shaya withdrew the darkness. Instantly light flooded the room, Lady London briefly squinted her eyes, grateful for the break in Shaya's concentration. She backed up and shoved against the statue a second time, this time with more success, sending it crashing forward. As Ushas witnessed the idol toppling toward her and Shaya, she used the nunchuks to deflect its fall, saving their lives at the cost of the structural integrity of the ancient statue. Weakened by the ordeal, she dropped to her knees as the rubble collected around them, dust settling in the air.

Lady London took advantage of the confusion to sweep past the Cultists who were threatening to now engage the emburdened Gridley Quayle in combat, lifting her ally and his paramour into the air and out the door.

"Rescuing you is getting to be a habit, Gridley," she said with a wryly, a firm grip on both her passengers.

"I'm more used to being on the other side of this equation," Quayle scowled, "especially when it comes to women."

She smirked. "It will take a period of adjustment, but one does get used to these things." She looked at the distraught Annabel, trying desperately to cover herself with the ribbon and failing miserably. Her eyes were wide; small tears were leaking from the corners. "For now we're taking her to hospital."

Any further discussion was interrupted by the sound of screams. "What the devil ... ?" Lady London turned to confront the sight of a giant scarab bursting into the room being ridden by a gaunt man clad in gold.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Shaya uncovered Ushas from the debris of the destroyed statue of their goddess and moved her to safety, despite Ushas' protestations.

The remaining cultists drew their swords. "He bears the Wand of Death!" one of them shouted, pointing to the ebony wand the figure on the scarab sported. He made a slashing movement with the wand, to which the scarb seemed to immediately respond.

"He's using the wand to control the beetle!" Quayle cried.

"I was imprisoned too long by you Hindoos, the man said, "your fallen goddess shall rise no more. I am Rakses and you shall fear me." The scarab began to tear at the remains of the Kali statue.

The Cultists ran at the beast, but it ignored their swords, intent on its goal.

Lady London glanced at her companion. "I know the enemy of the enemy is my friend … but blessed be if that isn't the Wand of Death." She flew at the scarab, attempting to knock it on its back, with no great success. Gridley Quayle drew his sidearm and fired several times at the insect's maw, which only served to attract its attention. Annabel screamed in horror as the giant scarab seized Quayle in its mandibles, piercing through his torso as if he'd been impaled by a series of swords.

"Enough," Lady London said to Rakses. "Quayle may have been a patronising ass, but he didn't deserve such a fate." She arced up in an accelerated flight, and seized the Wand of Death from Rakses' hand. "You think I need that to direct my creations?" He gestured magically, "I unleash the eldritch power of ... "

"Oh hush," she interrupted, braining him on the back of the skull with the Orb of Ra. He fell off the scarab, his skull and the orb cracked from the impact. As his body lay on the ground, it crumbled into dust. The scarab, no longer sustained by the power of the orb, reverted back to its original form of Nalin Oberoi, his face rendered hardly recognisable by Quayle's barrage of bullets.

Annabel screamed and began to cry in shock and loss, as she came to kneel over the remains of Gridley Quayle. Lady London kneeled down next to her. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said, taking the other girl's hand. "It appears the Adventure of the Wand of Death has ended with the curse of the wand striking down the hero as well as the villain." As the other girl's sobs slowly calmed, Lady London lifted her to her feet. "Come," she said, "you need care and attention. It's time to enter the real world."

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Lady London, Dai Thomas, Nalin Oberoi, Hari Oberoi, Rakses, Shaya and Ushas trademark and copyright Marvel Comics Inc.

Gridley Quayle and Felix Clovelly trademark and copyright the estate of P.G. Wodehouse.

Thanks to Stuart Vandal for helping me track down Dan Abnett's original spell for summoning Rakses (and associated mis-speakings), which I have duplicated here.

Among the reference materials I have consulted in writing this story:  
/author/wodehouse/something_ br  
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